


Poor Joe

by xXxdanknoscoperxXx



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cannibalism, Funny, Gore, Kidnapping, Mild Gore, Vomiting, autocannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 08:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6187522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxdanknoscoperxXx/pseuds/xXxdanknoscoperxXx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alan and Simon are done putting up with Joe. Doesn't everyone have some kind of unjust hate for someone just like they do?</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>This is a story I wrote some years ago based on people I knew (obviously the actual content of the story is purely fiction, and names were changed).</p>
<p>I recently found it again on my harddrive and it gave me a pretty good laugh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I used to know this one kid, Joe, back in high school.

This might sound a little gay, I guess, but I must admit that I thought he looked kind of cute. Not like the attractive sort of cute, more just like that sort of doll you see and you just want to keep on your shelf to stare at.

Now, I thought many people (boys and girls) were pretty cute in high school, and he wasn’t really different than any of the others whom I thought were visually appealing. Even though he was on the football team and had some pretty formidable-looking muscles, his face was soft enough. His fair skin was nicely freckled and he always seemed to have a nice sort of pinkish blush about the cheeks and nose. 

What really got me was how he would just put his head down and sleep in class. He’d just lay one arm across the desk and the other around his head and shut his eyes and go right to sleep. Sometimes his long eyelashes would twitch, as though he were having some kind of dream. I liked looking at him like that, too. 

And all the time he seemed to have this big grin on his face, like he was so happy about everything. It was impossible to make him upset. No matter what anyone would say, he would smile and laugh and pat you on the shoulder. He was awfully cute, and to be honest, I think I just felt that he was sort of precious, like a dog.

As this went on, day after day, week after week, he must have eventually noticed my staring. But I didn’t want any physical contact with him. He was just something pretty to look at, like a poster hung up in the corner of the room. He’d come up to me and ask me how I was, what I was doing, tell me a joke. I really didn’t mind all that much. What really irked me was that he seemed to have taken my glances as some kind of sign that I was interested in him. Sometimes I even felt like he was staring at /me/.

I didn’t know he swung that way until one day, he caught me all alone after school, wandering around, not really doing much of anything but staring at the walls and thinking that if I were going to be there much longer I’d might as well get started on my work.

“Simon!” Joe shouted from across the hall, waving one big hand as he saw he’d caught my attention, that grin spread from ear to ear.

I looked up, and was pretty indifferent about seeing him. Still, I made the most believable smile I could right back at him.

“Hey,” I answered, adjusting the strap of my backpack on my shoulder as I prepared to continue walking along.

“Are you coming to the game Thursday? I’d really like to see you there.” His expression was pleading, almost like a stray puppy’s.

I made myself look as though I were mulling it over for a minute. But I wasn’t really considering at all. Wasn’t interested in football, wasn’t interested in seeing this kid outside of school.

“Sorry, man, I have to be in Brooklyn Thursday. It’s my friend’s birthday.”

He looked down at the floor as though he’d been hurt, like I’d just punched him in the face or something. His smile was growing kind of sad.

Ah, shit. I hated making people cry, or look like they’re going to cry.

“Do you have any other games coming up soon?” I threw it in to not make him look like I’d just finished slaughtering his mother. Seriously, that face was absolutely pitiful.

At this, he grinned proudly. “Yeah! I’ll tell you as soon as I can!”

I nodded quickly and began to walk off past him. He caught me by the shoulder and before I could swipe his hand away he’d kissed me on the mouth. 

In a flash he drew back and looked quite embarrassed, but there was a gleam in his eyes that told he was happy to find someone like me. He laughed as though it were perfectly natural.

“See you later!” he sang before walking off with a cocky bounce in his step, as though he had somehow conquered me, leaving me completely alone in the hall.

At that moment, I decided that his face was horribly ugly.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a short while after that that I became friends with someone else, Alan. Not because I thought he was visually appealing or anything like that, but because we had many of the same interests. These mostly included things like gore, violence, dark humor, etc. Alan was a pretty messed up kid, and for some reason I liked him for that. He was as weird as I was, if not more.

We would sit around after school talking about how we would torture people, coming up with little horror stories of random things for our own amusement. Most of the time these would involve severe physical, emotional, and mental pain, which we found to be very amusing.

As a person, he was quite good-natured, though cynical, with a deep, burning hatred for anything conformist or “fake”. Lots of things would make him very angry, though I’d always put that down to his character. I didn’t really mind it; I thought it just helped make him who he was.

Alan, however, was also a bit emotionally unstable, I soon found. At seemingly random intervals, he would go into these deep bouts of depression. He seemed to be trapped inside of his own head at these points, and nothing would seem to be able to make him laugh or smile. It depressed me to look at him, and I often wondered what it was that was going on through his mind. He wouldn’t talk much during, but what he would say was deeply interesting.

Once during one of his depressive bouts, he came up to me and asked if I knew a Joe Solomon. 

I replied that yes, I did. I had already been trying to wipe that rather unpleasant incident with him from my memory.

At this, he nodded his head and said, “I hate that fucker.”

My curiosity was piqued. I asked why Alan hated him so much.

“I used to be a fat kid back in middle school, before I started swimming. He would make fun of me for being fat.”

I continued to listen patiently.

“And he would always joke about me to his dumb little football posse and they’d all pick on me. They were dumb assholes. I’d cry almost every day after school.”

At this point, he was pacing around, clearly thinking faster than he could speak.

“And I hate how he always sleeps in class like everything is just so far beneath him, like he’s the retarded prince of everything.”

He leaned against the wall and looked off at one of the classroom doors. It was locked, dark. Most of the other kids and teachers had already left for home.

“I hate that fake-ass fucking smile he has too. He laughs at everything. Everything. Even if it’s not funny. It just fucking pisses me off.”

If I had made friends with Alan before any of what annoyed me had happened, I might have been inclined to argue with him. Might have. Joe was never a good friend to me, so I really never had any reason to defend him in the first place. He was just a pathetic little dog. Nothing else.

I laughed along as I listened closely to Alan’s ranting. At that point, I really couldn’t have agreed more with what he was saying.

“I just really wish,” he continued, in a more serious tone, “that someone would just wipe that stupid smirk off his face.”

The next day Alan was back to his old cheery (if you could call it that) self again. His demeanor was so different from that which he had the day before that I wondered if he had even remembered anything he’d said at all. I was honestly I little bit disappointed. Though I don’t really know why.

He avoided me somewhat for the next few days.

After a little while, Alan finally came up to me again. He said, with that sort of empty look he often had when he was on the brink of another episode, “Do you remember what I said about Joe that other time?”

I nodded slowly.

“I wasn’t kidding, you know.”

“You’re not the only one who hates him,” I said calmly.

When he asked for me to elaborate, I told him about what had happened only a few weeks ago. I added in “that fucking faggot” for good measure. But I told him nothing else, nothing about how I used to find him visually pleasing or how I would look at him during class. After all, I did that with several different people, so why should it have mattered anyway?

Alan laughed.

“I’d really just like to rip his fucking lips off. And then just knock all his teeth out with a hammer so he can’t ever smile again. Then I’d carve ‘FATASS’ into his ugly goddamn head.”

I chuckled at the thought, but I didn’t think that he was serious.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few weeks went by normally. Alan’s bout came and left, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before the next would arrive. Still, in a way, I looked forward to it. He was even more honest and interesting when he was depressed. In a way, I felt like that was his normal self, and what everyone else saw as normal was just some mask he wore only for them.

I guessed that many people saw his depressive bouts more like dips in the road which was himself, and that those dips ought to be filled up and corrected if he were to ever try and live as himself. But I just saw it differently. I didn’t care how messed up he was or how angry he was or anything. We could agree on things and, besides, he was far more fascinating than any other friends I’d had.

One day, I got a call from Alan. It was late after school, on a Friday night, when the other, more likeable kids and their parents were likely out partying and trying to get ready for the weekend ahead.

I wondered why he would bother calling me. He already barely even texted me, when he did it was just to ask for a homework assignment or something of the like. I picked it up anyway. If he were calling this late then it must have been something important.

I was right.

“Simon,” his voice sounded shaky, and not in a frightened sort of way. He sounded excited, like he’d just climbed a mountain or wrestled a bear and won. “You have to get over here right now. I’m at –“ he gave me the address of some nearby warehouses, and told me to meet him inside one of them. 

“I’ll be waiting,” he finished. He sounded oddly happy. Happier than I’d ever heard him. To be honest, it scared me.

I immediately dashed off to go meet him. It sounded extremely suspicious and I knew that it was probably not the best idea I’d ever had to go and meet him like this. I think I could have even guessed what he had in mind as soon as I’d heard my phone ring, but I didn’t care.

I wanted to be a part of it.

He met me outside one of them and beckoned me to come in with him. Upon entering, he shut the door behind us and switched on the lights. In front of us was Joe, arms tied behind the back of the chair, feet tied together as well, completely out cold. And I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement down my spine as I looked at him.

I looked over at Alan. “How did you—“

He cut me off. “I told him you really wanted to see him. Said your parents didn’t want to see you with another guy so I’d lead him to where you wanted to meet him.” He tossed a rag wet with chemicals he’d been holding off to the side.

I laughed. “Hell, what kind of a place is this? Did he really expect me to butthump him here or something?”

Alan laughed as well, much more deeply and violently than I had.

“Want me to wake him up?” he asked. “That face he makes when he’s asleep pisses me off.”

I gestured for him to continue. I expected to just rough him up a little bit, maybe get a few good punches in on his face. No one fucking touches me, especially not filthy little dog scum like Joe the Pussy.

Alan made his way over to Joe and picked up his chin delicately with several fingers. He examined it for a brief moment; it seemed to make him angrier and angrier, until he finally curled up his other hand into a fist and sent it straight at Joe’s hideous little face. Alan hit his nose, and blood dripped down from his nostril almost immediately.

Joe’s eyes shot open. At first, he was angry. He looked at Alan with the stare of someone who wanted to fucking murder him.

Then, Joe was confused. He fought against his restraints for a little while, clearly wanting to get in a good punch or kick back at him. Alan simply chuckled.

Soon Joe’s eyes resembled those of a young cornered doe, searching desperately for some means of escape. He fought violently against his restraints, until I was sure that his skin must have been chafing pretty badly against the rope. And he struggled with such vigor that the chair in which he sat began to wobble and bounce about fitfully.

Eventually, he gave up, and fell back to glaring at Alan with an expression of pure hatred and disgust. 

“You asshole!” he yelled, voice angrier than I thought it could be, “Let me out of here right fucking now!”

“Or else what?” Alan teased. “Oh, no, please don’t hurt me, Joe! You look so scary!” Alan lifted his leg and kicked Joe hard in the stomach, and Joe let out a very satisfying groan.

After about a minute of recovery, Joe was clearly rather distraught. “Where’s Simon?!” he demanded, more shrill-sounding than intimidating.

“What?” Alan replied. “You think he wanted anything to do with you?” He pointed in my direction. I was smiling brightly despite myself.

As soon as Joe’s eyes met mine, he looked down and I could tell that he was about to cry. I could even see the film of tears forming over his eyes.

I really hated making people cry. But for him, I could make an exception.

“I-I… I thought…” he stuttered, feeling betrayed, no doubt.

“You thought wrong,” I interrupted bluntly. “I don’t like pathetic little shitstains.”

With that, I could see the first tear sliding down his pinkish cheek. It was incredibly funny. 

I decided that I should try and join in on the fun.

“What’ve ya got there, Al?” I pointed to a large black bag in the corner. I was genuinely curious. If we were going to stay here long we might as well make this as fun as possible.

Alan smiled, and Joe stared on with that pleading look as Al opened the bag and pulled out an old hammer.

“Shall I do the honors, or shall you?” he asked.

“He’s all yours,” I replied. I knew what was coming, and I wanted to watch.

Joe seemed to grow more frightened with every step that Alan took toward him. 

“Get away from me!” he screamed. “Stop! Leave me alone!” He struggled against his restraints again even though he knew it to be futile.

“Hold still,” Alan demanded. He placed a firm hand over Joe’s forehead and bent back his head with an arm that seemed to be more powerful than what I thought was capable from him. He then took the hammer and, as though to keep piling pain on top of pain, he decided to keep this as “painless” as possible. He seemed to tap rather lightly on Joe’s teeth, but he still managed to knock them out in the process.

Most of them landed on his tongue, along with a generous helping of blood. Joe shouted and another tear rolled down his cheek, along with another, and another.

Alan didn’t bother to remove the very back teeth; it was only the front ones that he cared about. As long as he wouldn’t have to see that smile again, he was as happy as he was ever going to be.

I simply looked on, delighted, as Alan gathered up these fallen teeth and collected them in a small plastic bag. He handed it to me and said, in between pained and pitiful groans from Joe, “We’ll need this for later.”

I placed it in my pocket and went into the bag to see what I could find for myself. I caught glimpses of many interesting objects: scissors, a scalpel, a battery and alligator clamps, bandages, an electric razor, and, for some reason, various chopped vegetables and sour cream.

I looked over at Alan quizzically, but he only nodded back, as if to say, “You’ll see.”

I grunted in understanding and grabbed the scissors. They were incredibly sharp, sharper than they’d looked, and I suspected that if I ran my finger along its edge I would soon regret it. But I knew exactly what I would do with it.

Making my way over to the poor, pathetic little dog in the chair, his eyes caught my own. I wondered how he could even see through the thick film of tears. But I did not pity him. But I did not want him to die, I only wanted him to suffer. If he were simply allowed to die, I wouldn’t have been able to see that look on his face. It was terribly funny, that expression.

I smiled as I came closer and closer. 

“Say goodbye to your pretty little lips,” I teased, running the side of the scissors over the chapped flesh. “Oh ho…” I laughed, “That’s right, it would be a little hard for you, wouldn’t it?”

With that, I immediately dug the scissor blades into the skin of his lips, and was surprised by how smoothly it was able to move through it. In only a few moments I was able to get his top lip completely separated, and the screams of agony he gave out in the meantime and those tears that seemed to flow down his face almost endlessly were all too exciting.

I continued with his lower lip, separating it with as much ease as I had gotten his first one. Blood poured from the wounds. Alan, however, had anticipated this, and handed me some bandage, which I folded and stuck between his lips before commanding, “Bite.”

To my surprise, he bit down like a good little dog, clearly not wanting die, much like I did, and, through those tears and moans and groans, I could have sworn that I heard him calling out, “Why…”

At this pitiful little performance of his, Alan and I both laughed.

“Here,” Alan handed me the alligator clamps and told me to place them “wherever you want to”. I stuck them on his nipples and pulled away, somewhat pleased with myself. Alan seemed rather pleased with me, too.

The alligator clamps had already been connected to the battery. Alan’s finger lay on the switch, and the second before it turned on, Joe’s eyes were shut tight and he gave some half-hearted cross between a yelp and a screech; he knew what was going to happen.

Mere moments after it had been switched on, the smell of burning flesh permeated the air. Joe seemed to be too shocked (pun intended) to make any kind of sound. It was quite enjoyable, staring at the helpless expression on his face, as though he were some poor little creature who just wanted to get out. Somewhere deep down, I felt that if I let him go now, he wouldn’t have even hated me, he might have even curled up at my feet and let me do whatever it was I wanted to him for the rest of his existence. And, for some reason, this pissed me off even more.

I tried to get Alan to increase the voltage further, even if it meant that Joe might die. But the smell of cooking flesh was too powerful by that time. Alan switched off the battery and took a look at what it was he had done.

Joe’s face was absolutely soaked with tears, and he simply sat, giving half-gasps, half-hiccups once every few seconds, as though this experience was too horrible for him to even bear. I didn’t mind too much, especially when I looked at his chest as saw two blotched of cooked human flesh. Joe’s ordeal really did amuse me to no end.

Alan asked for me to hand him the bag I’d held on to. I did so, and he filled it even further with this cooked human meat which we had just produced. Joe didn’t make a sound. I wondered if he even felt anything anymore.

Alan shook up the bag generously and reached for the next part of his plan. The electric razor and the scalpel. He instructed me to hold the scalpel while he shaved off the hair on Joe’s filthy head.

“Shhh,” he cooed as he ran the blades along his scalp. “We’ll be done soon, don’t you worry.”

I handed the scalpel over to Alan and he carved out a word, letter by letter, on that tender skin.

“Hey, Joe, remember when you used to make fun of me? Haha, wasn’t that great?” With each cut he made, Alan seemed to become angrier and angrier.

Each time he brought the blade down to Joe’s skin and it pierced the flesh, Joe gave out a whimper. He couldn’t really do much else.

When Alan was done he gestured for me to come over and look at it. 

The letters on Joe’s now-bald head spelled “FATASS”.

I snorted, very delighted by what Alan had done.

“What next?” I asked, quite curious. It was clear that Alan had put quite a bit of time and thought into what we were doing here. I assumed it would be best if I just let him take care of things his own way. After all, coming from a kid like that, any ideas he had would have to be incredibly funny.

He instructed me to try and make sure Joe stayed alive while he cut away at his scalp, removing it from the rest of his head. There wasn’t as much blood as there was during the other processes, but Joe did seem just as pathetic and stupid as he seemed during all the rest of it.

Within a few moments, Alan had completely removed the scalp. He handed it to me, and I held it quite carefully while he went back to the black bag in order to grab some more supplies. While he was gone, Joe shot me a glance as if to ask, “Why are you doing this to me?”. It took all of my strength to keep from laughing at him again.

Alan returned with the pre-cut vegetables, and I saw that his assortment included onion, lettuce, and tomato, and in the other hand he held his container of sour cream.

“You wanted dinner with Simon, right?” he asked mockingly. “Here’s your dinner.” He grabbed the severed scalp from my hand and emptied out the plastic baggie into it. It was filled now with human flesh and teeth.

He then sprinkled some lettuce and tomato over it, along with onion. To top it off, he reached into the container of sour cream and pulled out a thick mess of it on his fingers, which he wiped off on top of the “meal” he had prepared for Joe. It resembled some mess of a taco, except far more disgusting. A scalp-taco, maybe.

“Come on! Fucking eat it!” Alan stuffed this scalp-taco into Joe’s face, as Joe gave out a weak cry of discontent. But still, Alan stuffed harder and harder into his mouth, until the tears were flowing freely again, fresh and new.

Joe gave some awful choking sounds as Alan shoved more and more of it in, until the lump of mess was about halfway down his throat. Joe coughed hard, and gave some horrible, god-awful choking and gurgling noises. His face turned a nasty shade of blue.

But before he could pass out once more, a wall of vomit burst forth from his where his lips once were, pushing the scalp-taco back out of his throat. Joe was crying hard, and, through a loose mouth, the lump of flesh simply fell out of his mouth and plopped down onto the floor. Joe made sounds like a baby that had just shit its diaper.

It was all very funny.

Alan laughed and pointed at Joe’s pained face, smiling now that he had been able to go through with what he had been planning for years.

To be honest, I felt pretty accomplished too, with what I had done that day. I put some filthy mongrel back into his place. It was pretty much the best, not to mention the most enjoyable thing I’d ever done in my life.


End file.
